


until it breaks

by b0tticelli



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Elemental Magic, M/M, Magical Bond, Non-Linear Narrative, Past Lives, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-12
Updated: 2020-09-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:55:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26205289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/b0tticelli/pseuds/b0tticelli
Summary: “...But everyone had this patina of slightly bruised longing, this shimmer of I think I knew you when we were children, this look of I’ve loved you ever since you were born and probably longer than that.” ― Paul Hostovsky, from “Everyone was Beautiful,” Dear Truth (Main Street Rag, 2009).In which Seungcheol and Wonwoo find each other across many life times.
Relationships: Choi Seungcheol | S.Coups/Jeon Wonwoo
Comments: 4
Kudos: 12
Collections: Coup de Cœur - Round 1





	until it breaks

**Author's Note:**

> hello! this is my interpretation of prompt CFC038: _“but everyone had this patina of slightly bruised longing, this shimmer of I think I knew you when we were children, this look of I’ve loved you ever since you were born and probably longer than that” ― Paul Hostovsky, from “Everyone was Beautiful,” Dear Truth (Main Street Rag, 2009). I think about this quote in terms of a reincarnation au and just seungcheol/his partner finding him across different life times_
> 
> in the end, i decided to split this story into 6 parts, and as it progresses, i hope you'll understand why!

It’s with shaky hands that Seungcheol opens up the layers of Wonwoo’s armor and tears through underclothes with the sharp tilt of his dagger. He knows that his lover is dying before he even sees the wound—he can _feel_ the tautness of his last remaining thread as if it’s his own, the struggling breaths like it's his own, Wonwoo’s slowing heartbeat like it’s his own—and yet when his eyes fall upon it, it feels like the arrow still embedded in his back had struck his heart instead. 

Wonwoo stirs a little, Seungcheol realizes he’s trying to sit up and quickly shifts to help him. His back rests against Seungcheol’s front and he manages a quiet, shaky laugh. The cadence is low and even under strain, is an olive branch of comfort to him. 

“I did not expect this,” Wonwoo says. His voice has always been rough, naturally strained. Quiet when he wanted to be, but strong when the moment presented itself. Now, there’s something off kilter about it—broken in a way that can’t be shaped back to its original form. 

New tears spill out of Seungcheol’s eyes and his own laugh trickles out of his mouth. He pulls Wonwoo closer.

“We came pretty far, though,” Seungcheol replies, voice surprisingly firm, even through the phantom pains of Wonwoo’s wounds. 

Somehow, Wonwoo gathers enough strength to seek and grab Seunghceol’s hands, interlocking their fingers with a calculated squeeze. Immediately Seungcheol realizes what he’s trying to do, yet he can’t bring himself to stop it. Their magic combined is enough for Wonwoo to grow a modest patch of marigolds around them, matching the colors of the sunset behind them. 

“Wonwoo,” Seungcheol says, almost a chide, but a tone too weak to be heard as one. Wonwoo’s reply isn’t immediate, nor does it need to be because Seungcheol knows the intent behind the flowers. He offers his hand a gentle squeeze, watches as the flowers come into full bloom. 

“Do you think my flowers will go away when I do?” is what Wonwoo says. Seungcheol tears his eyes away from the reds and yellows and everything in between, to look at the other. He catches the way Wonwoo pauses to survey the flowers in his limited field of vision.

“I think they'll be like me,” Seungcheol answers simply. Their fingers intertwine and Seungcheol’s own heart blooms in momentary warmth when Wonwoo smiles. His eyes close, his lashes no longer wet with tears. Seungcheol isn’t even sure that he hears his last words, but he knows that he’ll feel it regardless, “We will always follow you.” 

It’s as natural as breathing. 

✽

They begin much like a plant shyly peeking out of its soil for the first time. Seungcheol didn’t mean to spy, but it wasn’t something he had seen before, not from someone so young. 

In the center of the small clearing sat a boy, smaller than Seungcheol, though he couldn’t surmise how much younger he was. Not that it mattered, anyway, not with the way vines had sprouted from the ground and around his forearm with ease. Seungcheol can’t take his eyes off of the way it twisted and moved around him, with such ease and freeness, it was a wonder of how long the boy had been practicing magic. 

He squints his eyes, leaning in closer to try and get a better look at the detail of the vines. It’s then that he loses his balance, hugging the tree he was hiding behind to keep from falling, but in steadying himself, a twig underneath his foot gives way and snaps. It’s quiet, but deafening among the usual ambience of nature. 

Seungcheol watches as the boy suddenly stiffens, watches as the vines around him instantly grow spikes in every direction while the boy’s eyes dart around suspiciously. It should frighten him, but instead he’s fascinated by the quickness of the boy’s magic. As strong as it may be though, his perception was off, still clumsy in navigating the earth when his eyes never leave the opposite end where Seungcheol was hidden. 

It’s then that Seungcheol decides to make himself known, sprouting from the ground like the boy’s vines in hope for a friendship. 

When more sounds come from behind him, the boy finally turns around, sagging in relief when he realizes it’s someone near his age, instead of an adult, mouth open and ready to scold. 

And when their eyes meet and linger, orange colored flowers slowly begin to bloom on the vines, and there’s a twinkle in the boy’s eyes that Seungcheol keeps in his memories for a lifetime and beyond. 

✽

It’s generations past their first—when clans split into territories split into kingdoms split into monarchies—that there's another story of the same souls with different minds, about a king and his guard. They also begin as children, but underneath the bruise of decay rather than creation. It’s when there is a king and his child and his kingdom are mourning the loss of a wife, mother—the queen—and a child, a brother—the crown prince. It was an assassination attempt gone awry—the children drank the poison first and only one was saved—where the queen gave her life defending the ones she created—where the king survived at the hand of his Guard. An honourable death against the ones who were put to shame. 

The funeral procession is beautiful—everyone dressed in white and marigolds in shades of red to yellow surround the caskets. The king and newly crowned prince never cried. They had to show strength that they could live through tragedy—that _yes,_ losing their loved ones hurt, but they would come out stronger because the wellbeing of the country _always_ came first. 

The real reason was that the newly crowned prince possessed magic of water, and if he cried, he could flood the entire kingdom. 

And so they never cried, but Wonwoo—neither a king or a prince or magic—cried enough for everyone. At first the crown prince never understood—he was _loud_ and insolent and what reason did he have displaying such rude behavior? 

_His father protected yours with his last dying breath,_ the king’s royal advisor had told the crown prince. 

_He has every right to cry,_ she also said, even though the crown prince didn’t see that as fair. But then, she kneels to his eye level, holds his gaze, _One day, maybe he will do the same for you._

And it’s that very night that the crown prince made a plan to walk up to the crying boy and wipes his tears. 

_Your father protected your king’s life with his last dying breath,_ he should have told him, _One day you will serve me, and one day you will do the same for me._

The crown prince is 8 and Wonwoo is 4. He kneeled down and wiped away Wonwoo’s tears. His cheeks were hot like a furnace, he could have sworn his tears sizzled against the skin. When their eyes meet, the crown prince is met with eyes warm like his skin and twinkling like the stars in the sky. 

Instead, Seungcheol tells him, “Your father gave his life protecting mine. One day you will be my loyal subject. And one day I will protect you as your father did mine.”

And it’s many, _many_ seasons later, when the crown prince is no longer _just_ and sits on the throne rather than beside it, that he makes the promise again, this time as king. The stars twinkle that night, amongst the darkest night of the year when the moons are hidden from view.

Seongcheol sits awake in his chambers, long after the sun had been chased out of the sky. He looks out his window, stares out at the royal tombs. They’re built with white stone and serve as an unbothered garden, though this time of year, the marigolds are unable to bloom. He always thinks that the tombs look saddest in the winter like this. 

There’s a knock on his door that pulls him away from his mind and he gives verbal permission before turning around and waiting for his expected guest to enter. 

His guard is in front of him without any preamble, jaw set as he kneels, blood still fresh on his armour. 

“Your majesty,” Wonwoo murmurs, his eyes flicker up to his king and never leave. It’s an act of disobedience that only he could get away with. Seungcheol dismisses him and sighs, turning his back to pour a glass of wine. 

“You look like you could use a drink,” he says while filling two glasses, “And perhaps a bath, you look and smell like death.”

Wonwoo tenses briefly, then gets back to his feet and places his hands behind his back. 

“I would not be foolish enough to drink while you’re under my care,” he says stoically, but Seungcheol sees the way he eyes the bottle. 

“But now is the time where you _shouldn’t_ be,” Seungcheol replies quickly, “I should be asleep by now and as should you, isn’t that right? Why else do I have guards outside my door—unless you dismissed them on your way in.” 

Wonwoo’s eyes flicker to a spot somewhere behind Seungcheol, and this is how he knows that Wonwoo's mind is working at a rapid speed right now, trying to twist the words threatening to spill out of his mouth into something more palatable for a king. He’s had the same habit since they were children.

“We are both awake at _your_ command, your majesty,” he finally says, eyes finally making contact with his king, “You sent me on a mission and I’ve completed that. Your knights are still keeping watch.” 

“All the more reason to relax,” Seungcheol reasons, “C’mon. Let me at least heal your wounds.” He steps closer to Wonwoo, their difference in height becoming more apparent when Wonwoo steels himself, keeping his back straight and unwavering as his king steps into his personal space. 

Quietly, he murmurs, “You’re assuming that any of this blood is my own.” 

Seungcheol eyes rake over Wonwoo’s form carefully, face clear of any scrutiny before his hand slips underneath Wonwoo’s left shoulder armour and presses down with his thumb. Wonwoo, for all intents and purposes does his best to keep his expression cool, demeanor straight, but the sharp pain that shoots down his arm is enough to make him wince. At being caught, he huffs, and steps out of Seungcheol’s grip. 

“You are _my_ king,” Wonwoo says, “I look after you, not the other way around, your majesty.” 

There’s a moment of tension, neither gaze wavering from each other’s stare. Wonwoo never forgot the promise from an 8 year old crown prince, but now he was old enough to know that wasn't how they are meant to work. Finally. Seungcheol speaks. 

“You are right,” he seemingly concedes, stepping back into Wonwoo’s space. Once again Wonwoo doesn’t waver. “I _am_ your king. You are _my_ guard and bound by Oath under my command until death, meaning that you do what I say.” 

There’s a familiar burn in pooling in Wonwoo’s stomach, his head turns slightly when Seungcheol’s face nears his. 

“Or,” Seongcheol says, then smiles—the same playful one Wonwoo grew up seeing in the moments they free of prying eyes, “I’ll have your head.” 

“Your majesty,” Wonwoo says—not in warning but in near exasperation. His eyes are cast downward to meet the eyes of his king, but it’s still very clear which of the two holds more power—and not just because he dawns a crown made of platinum black. Wonwoo stares at him with fire in his eyes and Seungcheol ever so carefully extinguishes them when a gentle hand this time finds his way to Wonwoo's cheek. Wonwoo relents, his posture relaxing into it and eyes softening, “Seungcheol.” 

And then when Seungcheol starts removing his layers of armor piece by piece, he lets him do that too. 

"I've drawn you a bath," Seungcheol says, "It's gone cold. You _did_ take longer than planned, you know." 

Wonwoo lets his fingertips ignite with small flames once he's down just to his underclothes, taking a seat on a bench near the tub before sticking his hand in the water to warm it up. Seungcheol stands behind him, using water guided by own fingertips to ease the pain in Wonwoo's shoulder. His shoulder was the exact reason why it took so much longer. The anti-magic rebels were getting more creative as the days past, but even so, Wonwoo successfully took out their current leader. Their not so secret hiding place will smoulder for days. 

Doubt still prickles in the back of his mind, though. People continue to grow more wary of magic wielders in large numbers and it's only a matter of time until the weight of doubt breaks the bridge. 

"Am I allowed to keep your company tonight, your majesty?" Wonwoo asks instead of voicing concerns. Seungcheol was king, and these were burdens he bore already.

They grew up together, since Wonwoo was 4 and maybe that's why he feels the smile that blooms on Seungcheol's face even if he's not facing him. 

"Wash the blood and soot off your face and we'll see," Seungcheol says and after a moment, stops tending to Wonwoo's shoulder. 

After testing its range of motion for a few seconds, Wonwoo undresses completely and with the deepest devotion, he listens to his king. 

✽

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading. please stay tuned in for more very soon. <3
> 
> and of course, as always, many thanks to my main squeeze sarah for her constant words of encouragement. luv you<3


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